Why Can't a Mortal Be More Like a Yam?
by Lynn10
Summary: After Ryou ruins Yami Bakura's most precious possession, Yami Bakura poses a rant in the form of a poem to his light on why humans can't be more like yamis. Oneshot


_This is dedicated to a particular vacation time where everyone that has anything to do with education is now free from the phrase, "I can't. I have to study." So, for all you people that just got out of that mesmerizing time or are going to get out of it soon, enjoy. This is a one-shot fic._

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of particular value in this story.

Why Can't a Mortal be More Like a Yam'?

By: Lynn

Ryou Bakura burst into his house at break-neck speed. He ran up the steps to the second floor and turned a corner into his room where he then flopped down on his bed, out of breath.

At long last school was finally over!

'No more homework!' he thought happily. 'No more tests, no more pop quizzes, and no more studying at all!' He paused for a second, thinking. 'Hey, no more being chased by weird girls, either.'

He smiled as he thought of all the things that he and his friends were going to do _this_ year. There were so many more things that they could plot and plan and scheme up. And now that Joey got his very own driver's license, he could already tell this year was going to be a complete blast (hopefully with Joey's "expert driving skills", that said statement would not be taken literally).

As he laid on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling, his grin disappeared suddenly when he realized one important aspect.

"Oh, no!" he cried, scrambling off his bed, and dashing down the stairs. "I forgot to do my yami's laundry!" As he ran, he thought of all the things his yami would say when he realized his clothes weren't washed. He'll start to rant and rave and blather about how you need clean clothes for the next week or so, and then comes the beating. Ah, yes, the beating. And Ryou definitely didn't want that, so he just grabbed the first bunch he saw (of his yami's clothes), not knowing (or caring) if they were already clean or not, and chucked it into the machine, put in the soap, set the dials, and pressed the 'wash' button.

He leaned against the appliance, sighing with satisfaction at having his yami not yelling at him when he gets home.

That very moment, Yami Bakura came rushing in through the front door, screaming and yelling inaudible things at the top of his lungs.

Ryou jumped with the sudden slamming of the door, and at once knew it was his one and only. He then peeked around the corner. Happy-Go-Lucky was partially hidden by shadows, but Ryou could tell by the sillouette (not to mention the shouting) it was his other half.

When Yami Bakura finally took a breath from all those curses, Ryou stepped into the room.

"What's wrong, Yami?" He almost cringed after he spoke; not the right choice of words for a raving yami.

Amost as if it were in a play, the cue set Yami Bakura off for even _more_ yelling, screaming, and cursing (mostly in Egyptian). When he decisively stepped out of the shadows, Ryou could understand why.

This was Yami Bakura's first year in school, so it was also his first year of having experienced what high schoolers do when it's the last day of school. He was egged and creamed from head to toe. Ryou could also make out some ketchup smeared inbetween the white and creamy mess.

Ryou sucked in the laughter and actually managed to get out a sad voice, "Oh, Yami, I'm _so_ sorry! You must have really had a rough day!"

Yami Bakura rolled his eyes and rotated away from Ryou. "Oh, sure, _YOU'RE _sorry!" He began to pace the room. "You didn't get egged at all, did you? _Nooo!_ You don't know _HOW_ I feel, and I don't expect you to care!"

Ryou wasn't ready for an "outburst" like that; he was ready for an, "if-you-didn't-wash-my-laundry-you're-gonna-have-your-face-impression-permanently-printed-on-the-wall" outburst. But, then again, it _is, _after all, the last day of school, so…

"DID YOU DO MY LAUNDRY?"

Ah, that was better...

Ryou smiled like he had actually done something right for once. "Actually, yes! I grabbed the load and put it right in."

Yami Bakura immediately turned around. "Load? I didn't make you a load! You always gather my dirty laundry _for_ me!"

Ryou, intent on not getting a thrashing, shrugged. "Well, it really doesn't matter, does it? I mean, I'm just washing some shirts, and dress pants, and your pair of blue jeans…"

Yami hurried over to him. "Did you say my one good pair of blue jeans?"

Ryou grinned timidly. "Yes?"

Yami turned pale. "My one good pair of blue jeans with the steak stain on its backside?"

The grin on Ryou's face cranked up two points above phony. "Yes?"

"_OH, NO_!" He jostled Ryou to the side, flew to the washer, and flung the lid open.

The wash machine had already started its job. Suds were all over Yami Bakura's washed clothes but he plowed through the wet mass until he found what he was looking for—his one good pair of blue jeans with the steak stain on its backside.

He dragged out the soaked pair of pants, flung in on the floor, and dug something out of its pocket.

Ryou, who at all this time only saw his yami's back, asked, "What's the matter? After all, it's just a pair of blue jeans. I'm sorry if I accidentally washed them and they were clean, but…"

"It's not _THAT_, you imbecile!" Yami Bakura turned to face him, shoulders shaking in absolute rage. In his hand was what was left of his dueling deck, now tattered, waterlogged, and ruined. In short, he couldn't duel with (or attack with) that thing ever again.

Yami Bakura stood and closed in upon a terrified Ryou, who backed up into a wall. "You have messed up before, _BUT NEVER LIKE THIS_!"

Ryou just got out, "I'm sor…"

* * *

Ryou, who survived two black-eyes and a couple of broken ribs, was sitting in a chair facing his yami (who had finally cooled down) and was waiting to see what he had to say, because he _was_ _personally_ invited to this meeting of two.

Yami Bakura stared down Ryou with unblinking eye. "Now, I'm going to show you how much better, more sophisticated, and _UN-INELEGANT _(here, Ryou raised an eyebrow) yamis are to humans."

He took out a paper and started to read:

"What in all of Egypt could have prompted you to wash,

After I'd just recently been creamed?

What could have depressed you?

What could have possessed you?

I can't understand the way you scheme!"

Ryou sighed quietly to himself. Yami Bakura was doing _another_ poem that he made up out of nowhere. Now he was in for it.

Yami Bakura continued to read:

"Mortals are irrational! That's all there is to that!

Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags!

Their nothing but exasperating, irritating, vacillating, calculating, agitating, maddening, and infuriating hags!"

Ryou was now only half-listening and was sadly watching happy kids on their way home from school, most likely not coming home to angry yamis. Yami Bakura suddenly noticed this and pulled Ryou's chair out from under him.

Ryou yelped in surprise as his yami peered into his face. "Bakura…"

'Oh, no!' Ryou thought. 'He's going to beat me now for not listening…'

"Bakura, why can't a mortal be more like a Yam'?"

Ryou looked at him, startled. He blinked a couple times. "...what?"

Yami stood straight up and started pacing the floor. "Yes, why can't a mortal, be more like a Yam'?

Yam's are so honest, so thoroughly square;

Eternally noble, historically fair (and have wild hair!);

Who when you win will always give your back a pat!

Why can't a mortal, be like that?

Why do all the humans do what others do?

Can't a mortal learn to use his head?

Why do they do everything their mothers do?

Why don't they grow up—well—like their yami instead?

Why can't a mortal, take after a yam'?

Yam's are so pleasant, so easy to please;

Whenever you're with them, you're always at ease.

Would I be slighted if you didn't speak for hours?"

"Well, Yami—"

"Would I be livid if you had a fight or two?"

"Yes! I—"

"Would I be wounded if you never sent me flowers?"

"I never did!"

Yami added dryly, "Why can't a mortal, be like you?"

Ryou stood. "Enough of this rhyming! Not everyone has a yami, anyway! And you can be quite mean at…"

Yami shoved him back down. "ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT! One yam' in a million may shout a bit.

Now and then there's one with slight defects.

One perhaps whose truthfulness you doubt a bit.

But by in large we are a marvelous sex!

Why can't a mortal, behave like a yam'?

Yam's are so friendly, good natured and kind;

A better companion, you _never_ will find.

If you were hours late for dinner would I bellow?"

"Yes!"

"If you forgot my silly birthday would I fuss?"

"Of course!"

"Would you complain if I knocked out another fellow?"

"Yami!"

"Well, why can't a mortal, be like us?"

Livid that they're not, Yami Bakura stormed into a different room, slammed the door behind him, and left a very, very surprised Ryou.

"But I'm not even a yami!" Ryou wondered aloud to himself. 'Well, at least that conversation is over...' he shrugged, and started to walk out of the room.

Yami Bakura rapidly came out back into the room, now partially under control, and Ryou froze in his tracks.

"Bakura, you _ARE_ a human.

Why can't a mortal, be more like a yam'?

Yam's are so decent, such regular chaps.

Ready to help you through any mishaps.

Ready to buck you up whenever you are glum.

Why can't a mortal, be a chum?

Why is thinking something mortals never do?

And why is logic never even tried?

Straightening up their hair is all they ever do.

Why don't they straighten up the mess that's inside!

Why can't a mortal be more like a yam'?

If _I_ was a mortal, who'd been in a fight,

Been beaten up by my light all the night;

Would I start weeping like a bathtub overflowing?

Or carry on as if my home were in a tree?

Would I run off and never tell me where I'm going?

_NO!_ Why can't a mortal—eh—be like me!"

Yami Bakura threw on his coat and stormed out the door.

When Ryou saw that the coast was clear, he stood and sadly shook his head.

"Oh yami, yami, yami," he walked slowly towards his bedroom. "If mortals were just like you, there would be a third World War!"

His bedroom door closed behind him.

**Fin**

_Ehh, that was more of a fun one-shot than anything else. And for any of you Pygmalion fans, you'll recognize the poem right away; for those of you who don't, the song is called "Why Can't a Woman Be More Like a Man?" Well, nevertheless, review and tell me what you thought!_


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